ACT ONE, chapter two :
you've got to pick up every stitch
oh no, must be the season of the witch
ϟ
1 september 1991 — first year.
Lilium Snape hated Harry Potter.
Most reacted with amazement or fascination or obsession upon meeting The Boy Who Lived. Lilium responded with disdain. It had been something ingrained in her, something that she'd been raised with — or perhaps born with.
She knew it was him the moment she saw him, nevermind the scar. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. She was making an effort to ignore the boy, but the moment their eyes met, something shifted slightly. It wasn't a very big shift, hardly noticeable to those not in it, but it was as if the whole world had titled a few more degrees or perhaps everything shifted left a few centimeters.
You hate him, a voice slithered in her head, Remember that: you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.
Lilium swiftly looked away from Potter.
She hated him.
She decided here and now that she could spend the next seven years doing everything she could to avoid the Boy Who Lived.
Lilium once had free reign of Hogwarts; it was her home, before she had known any others. True, she had an unconventional childhood, strange compared to most. Being the child of staff, perhaps the only child of the Hogwarts faculty, she was a young girl who grew up in a boarding school, running round the massive grounds, climbing centuries old parapets, and sliding down ancient bannisters. For years, she had seen other older students, wandering the halls, going to classes, never being able to partake herself.
Now, it was finally her turn.
Lilium felt like she'd been waiting for Hogwarts her whole life. All her life, it was during the school years — between the loneliness and despair that followed one summer and the lift that followed the end of the next — where she hoped to exist forever, Sev and Lilium the only team, the only people in the whole world that mattered.
For those first years, 'til she reached the age of four, she didn't go to Spinner's End with him. It was as if he didn't know how to be her father; he was a man who never intended to be a parent and now had to improvise. And it was at Hogwarts round this time, Madam Pomfrey would say later, that the girl's father fell in love with her.
'Your father was suddenly in awe of you,' she had said, though Lilium didn't remember why.
Severus Snape.
Whenever people found out about her, they were shocked. Appalled, nearly. Lilium who? It wounded her in a way she could not express. Sometimes the girl stared long and hard at her father, trying to make sense of this situation they had both found themselves in.
Why did you have a child?
It didn't make sense.
He wasn't at all paternal, and he was gone from their flat more often than not. To her knowledge, he never expressed any great interest in family life, and if he was lonely, certainly an infant couldn't be great company.
For a while, Lilium thought perhaps she was the evidence of some great love he had experienced. A result. A consequence. But nothing in their lives indicated this. Her mother was not a factor, no evidence of her in their quarters or their lives, she might as well not even be real. When Lilium asked about her mum — only twice, her father was cold and dismissive, and she could see in his eyes that there was no love lost there.
So why?
Why did Lilium exist? And why did her father keep her?
Lilium S. Snape wasn't anything special. She was a tiny sprite of a girl, with a pleasing, scratchy voice, pale nearly sickly skin, and dark hair that hung on either side of her cheeks in thick plaits. And as usual, small flowers were tucked into these weaves, startlingly white against her jet black hair. She had only three fingers on her right hand and a hideous scar from her lip to her chin. She was small for her size, even Neville bloody Longbottom was taller than her. So, unfortunately, her clothes were just a bit too big for her. The sleeves of her black robe went past her hands, her pale fingers barely poking out.
As always, Lilium freaked people out.
Her piercing gaze seemed to see straight through them. A chill crept over their skin at her closeness. The fine hairs on the backs of their necks rose when she breathed in their direction. There was something peculiar about Lilium Snape, that no one could identify or correctly name, that most people found deeply unsettling. When one spoke to her, they had a feeling of otherness, as if someone so small could be so dangerous without even knowing it.
People were afraid of her, and she — in turn — was afraid of them.
The girl was sick with nerves at the thought of being round all these people. She was jostled between the other nervous First Years and tried not to hate them all too much. It was a little early for grudges... she supposed. Growing up, in most social situations, Lilium usually hid behind her father's legs, and she even once bit a professor who tried to pinch her cheek. Snape said nothing.
So Lilium ignored her fellow students, rigid and uncomfortable, black—haired and not smiling.
It'd been a rough journey so far, surrounded by all these immature little kids (fellow eleven year olds like herself), not to mention that the train trolley of sweets was empty because some arsehole took the lot.
Honestly, how rude!
Off the train, the First Years were carted off to scores of boats and taken separately to the castle, as was custom. None of this was surprising to her; she was amazed by the whole process anyway. She couldn't deny that every time she saw Hogwarts with its golden glow within, it took her breath away.
This is home, Lilium's heart sang as she climbed the stairs towards the Great Hall.
She wished she could dig her nails into this feeling, beg for it to never leave her, and for her to never leave it.
Real visible magic was in the air.
Lilium wasn't even too annoyed when Draco tried to recruit Harry Potter into his already developing gang of imbeciles. Why did those arsholes have to be the representatives of a good and noble House such as Slytherin? Sighing, she just pushed between the two boys when Potter rejected his offer and Draco was left standing with a hand outstretched.
How embarrassing.
Draco wasn't her friend per se; he was more of an... acquittance. This was not personal, mind, it was only that Lilium didn't have friends — she neither wanted nor needed them. But she'd known Draco Malfoy for years; their parents had old connections from the days before she was born. What connections, she couldn't be sure. Just... connections. In any case, Draco had been the one child her age with whom Lilium had truly interacted with.
Once Draco asked about her mother, in that tone that meant he already knew the answer and was already mocking her. Annoyed, Lilium said she didn't have one — she never did. Perhaps she'd been dropped down the chimney or left in a basket or perhaps she'd been brought by an owl or some such thing.
Draco had laughed at her, teased her relentlessly. Ever so sweetly, Lilium managed a spell that had him sneezing up cockroaches for the next two hours. 'He deserved it,' was her only defense when he inevitably told his father about it — 'my father will hear about this!' The cockroach.
'He deserved it,' she said over and over.
Sev — no, she had to call him Snape now — seemed to agree.
As the fresh First Years crowded round the front of the Hall, Lilium's black eyes stared past them all, up at the ceiling that was enchanted to look like the night sky with a blanket of candles. She was trying to distract herself, avoid looking at people who knew her, avoid thinking about what was coming next. Thankfully, Professor Albus Dumbledore bought her a little time when he rose from his seat in shiny red robes that looked impossibly heavy.
His melodic voice seemed to echo across the busy Hall, "I have a few start of term notices I wish to announce. The First Years please note that the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mister Filch—," ugh, Lilium was not a fan, "—has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death."
Lilium nearly rolled her eyes.
Talk about dramatic, Merlin's sake.
"Thank you," the Headmaster added happily and took his seat.
As the students awkwardly glanced at each other, Professor McGonagall read their names from a roll of parchment to be Sorted.
Here it was. No delaying it now.
As a girl called Hermione Granger put on the Hat, Lilium carefully studied the High Table to distract herself. She saw Dumbledore seated at the very center of the table, of course. Those twinkling blue eyes caught her gaze and she quickly glanced away, as if to hide the fact that she'd been looking.
There was an empty seat beside him, which Lilium imagined belonged to McGonagall, and beside her was Professor Flitwick sitting on top a pile of cushions. Hagrid was seated at the next leg over, looking even larger than usual when seated by non—half—giants. Snape was seated at the opposite end beside the familiar nervous—looking man who wore a deep purple turban, Professor Quirrell. Ugh. Lilium was not a fan of Quirrell either. Watching the proceedings, her father somehow looked intensely irritated and rather bored at the same time. It was an impressive look.
Lilium's attention was snagged again when McGonagall called rather sharply, "Draco Malfoy."
With a smirk on his lips, the blond boy left her side to swagger forward and grip the Hat like he owned the thing.
It'd barely touched it to his head, when it shouted: "Slytherin!"
Shocking.
Not really. It wasn't at all shocking that a Malfoy made Slytherin — it was simply tradition, and perhaps a bit genetic as well. Most said that there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin — which wasn't at all true. As the daughter of a proud Slytherin, Lilium knew that there was an endless supply of arseholes from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and (please, don't even get her started on) Gryffindor.
Professor McGonagall continued down the list, "Susan Bones..."
Suddenly a sharp, hot pain shot across Lilium's left arm.
The girl flinched, a few—fingered hand flying to grasp her forearm, skin hidden under her thick robes as always. Her lips parted, hissing, intent on wincing when someone else beat her to it:
"Ouch!"
Lilium stilled, confused at whoever was sharing her pain. Cautiously, she glanced across her shoulder to find none other than Harry Potter gripping at his forehead just as she gripped at her forearm.
"Harry?" Yet another redheaded Weasley fretted. "What is it?"
"N—Nothing..." Potter murmured back after a moment, "Nothing, I'm fine."
As if feeling her stare, his green eyes darted to hers, but she swiftly dropped her hand and looked away.
One by one, the Sorting Hat put each of the first years into the different Houses — Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and so on.
Then the professor called, "Lilium Snape."
There was an abrupt drop in the chatter. Everything and everyone went silent. The drop in excitement crackled and fizzled out like the hiss of a blown out candle. As she made her way up the aisle of tables, Lilium avoided the eyes of the many who stared and whispered — particularly that of the Potions Professor sitting at the head table. At the edge of the stool, the girl found herself hesitating, fingertips just brushing the brim of the tattered Hat.
Professor McGonagall murmured gently, "If you will, Miss Snape."
Back perfectly rigid, she placed herself on the stool and felt the Hat set like a weight on her head.
The Sorting Hat's voice startled her, even though she knew it was coming:
"Oh yes! Another Snape, then this should be easy... Or not."
"Just get on with it," she silently demanded (pleaded).
The Hat paid her no mind, simply saying, "Interesting, interesting. Resourceful and ambitious, I see... Not to mention, utterly cunning..."
So here it was — the moment of truth. Lilium squeezed her obsidian eyes shut, biting hard into the soft interior skin of her cheeks. Slytherin, Slytherin, please let it be Slytherin. It wasn't that she wanted to get into Slytherin — she needed to. She hoped the Hat would understand that, and it would give her what she needed, stomach churning, palms sweating. Her heart began to thud so loud that she could barely hear the Hat over her own beat.
"But also daring and determined... Let's not forget loyal, and most of all, brave beyond words. Ah, right then... Let's see... I know, Gryffindor!"
Lilium's eyes shot open, a horrified gasp torn from her lips.
Oooooh shite.
There was light clapping, she thought, on behalf of Gryffindor House, but all she could feel was the prickling stare of the Potions Professor on the back of her neck. A kind wrinkled hand found her shoulder, encouraging her to hop off the stool. She swiftly removed the Hat from her head, practically shoved it at Professor McGonagall's chest, and scurried off the dais.
Lilium's hands and feet were full of pins and needles when she finally managed to collapse at the Gryffindor table, across from Hermione Granger and beside the red—haired boy who quickly introduced himself.
"I'm Ronald Weasley!" He gave her a cheery smile that hurt to look at, "And you're...?"
The girl swallowed hard, hardly able to hear herself respond, "Lilium S. Snape."
"What's the S. stand for?"
"It stands for: Stop Talking To Me."
Ronald scrunched his nose and mumbled to Granger, "Merlin. She's pleasant to talk to, eh?"
Apparently not appreciating the insult, Granger frowned at him, sniffed rather haughtily, and turned away.
Ronald Weasley looked utterly bewildered by the two girls surrounding him.
At the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore was watching Lilium carefully.
She was scared to look back.
The world hummed in her ears so loud that she barely noticed that Harry Potter, too, had been sorted into Gryffindor. Just her luck. Potter looked 'bout as shaky as she did, striding to the Gryffindor table to the immense cheering of their now — shared — House. She did not cheer, staring long and hard at the bespeckled boy who seated himself beside Hermione Granger.
From across the table, Harry Potter smiled warmly at her, but Lilium rolled her eyes and swiftly looked away.
ϟ
Lilium did not fit.
Amidst that sea of red and gold, Severus Snape's daughter sat like an angry stormcloud.
Fingers adorned in silver rings, black fringe brushing thick lashes, she existed brave but unhappy. As the feast well and truly began, she ignored her new Housemates, more or less stabbing her food like she was trying to murder what was already dead. All round her, her fellow happy little First Years were settling in. Severus found himself scowling how close Lilium sat to Potter, who looked just the same as his b—stard father.
Fortunately, his own child paid no attention to Potter's spawn.
Since the war ended, Severus had the unfortunate opportunity to know an endless supply of irritating little dunderheads, but Lilium was the only child Severus knew who could be wry, as if she was already life—weary at eleven years old. There was something about her, maybe wit or irony, that she possessed despite her subtle voice and sly movements and over—awareness of her surroundings. She was both a child and a ghost, watching everything from a distance.
Eleven year old Lilium was sallow, small, and stringy — much like him at that age, but her face reminded Severus of someone else's, same mouth and same nose, although no wickedness had left dark shadows on her angular childlike features.
Not yet.
She was already different.
Lilium had no interest in normalcy; no talent for Quidditch, no friends, and no familiar. Why Hogwarts even allowed students to bring pets (of all things), Severus still could not understand. As if having a seemingly endless supply of miserable dunderheads running all over the castle wasn't torturous enough. Lilium had always loved coming across some creature or other in the corridor. This would have to suffice; he refused to have any such thing in their quarters.
But... it was more than that...
Yew wood with a dragon heartstring core, 12 ¾", and swishy; she had a wand fit for a villain as much as a hero. Rare and unusual and often notorious; with a fearsome reputation for Dark Magic and the power of life and death.
She was just as different as him.
The truth is, Severus hadn't wanted children.
Never did, not when he was an unhappy child, and not when he had grown into an even unhappier adult. He used to say that — 'I'd be a terrible father' — to Lily and later to Lucius and the few others who listened and peopled his youth. Some people are not meant to be parents, and Severus had contentedly considered himself one of those people — which was commendable enough that he recognised it.
But then Lilium had been thrust upon him, against his wishes and better judgement.
'A necessary evil,' The Dark Lord had laughed in his ear.
That small pale—cheeked girl, who did not cry as often as a baby might and did not talk as soon as a child should. That strange child who only wore black and had a starving smile she did not produce easily. That too thin baby who had once called 'Sev' whenever he walked in a room, which could mean either: 'Where the hell is my applesauce?' or 'Of all the fathers in the world, how did I end up with such a sh—tty one?'
A necessary evil.
Severus had more than one reason to want to tear the Dark Lord apart, if he came back.
When he came back.
Lilium Snape's letter came in July. Severus had watched the owl approach with a grim expression, thinking just for one moment that he should light it on fire before it even touched her fingertips. But shyly grinning and totally starry—eyed, Lilium had been waiting for this day for years; besides, she had a tighter grip on the d—mned thing than he did.
Lilium had fretted about the Sorting; about where she'd end up. She hadn't said it, but he knew her as well as he knew the ingredients of Draught of Living Death.
But Lilium ran along the parapets of the castle and hung from windowsills seven storeys high. She constantly had scabs on her knees because she never looked where she was running. She liked every dangerous creature of Hagrid's, used to ride Fang like a horse when she was small enough. She played pranks only on people who might appreciate them — who would laugh with her, and perhaps a few on those who deserved it (i.e. Quirrell).
If she didn't end up in Gryffindor House, Severus was going to eat that d—mn Hat.
He was hardly even surprised.
But Severus did remember the first signs, even now, glaring down at his roast.
The first time Albus Dumbledore had wanted to inspect her, Lilium had been only four years old.
On that day, the Headmaster had begun a thorough ritual, one that would continue for the next eleven or so years — called 'Inspections'. A series of questions and examinations and an assessment of her left forearm always, always hidden beneath her long sleeve. Too scared or too stubborn, little Lilium refused to answer a single question. She took Severus' hand and looked like she was battling the urge to cry.
For some reason, Severus found himself holding her hand a bit tighter, thin bones grinding, little fingers clenching back as hard as they could.
The little girl stared up at the Hogwarts Headmaster with a critical squint. Albus was much taller than her — seeming massive to her then, and she knew he was already very old, judging by the silver in his long beard. He sat behind his grand desk in his grand office, now speaking with Severus instead; anyone could tell he was intelligent. Important.
She desperately wanted him to approve of her.
"My father is Severus Snape," she announced out of the blue, interrupting the conversation around her.
Many parts of this were surprising. Lilium had always been an impossibly shy child, unaccustomed to speaking with most people, and she wasn't exactly supposed to go round telling people who her father was — even if Albus clearly already knew. Severus glanced down with a strange expression, one brow slightly twitched upward, and it was impossible to know whether he was annoyed or bemused.
Even Severus was unsure.
"Oh?" The Headmaster asked kindly, directing all his attention to her.
Albus Dumbledore was like that; he never made Severus' daughter feel too young or too small — her voice mattered.
"Yes," Lilium replied. "And I'm the bravest girl in the world."
ϟ
So... this was home.
Lilium felt distinctly out of place, even though this was where she supposedly belonged now — at least for the next seven years. The girls dormitory in Gryffindor was the complete opposite of her bedroom in the dungeons. Cozy. Warm. Circled with canopy beds. A massive rug with a lion stitched into it. Room smothered in reds and golds, practically dripping with Gryffindor pride.
It was all a little... much.
She'd been assigned to share a dorm with other First Years — Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Kellah Watts.
Lilium, who was accustomed to a quiet childhood and her own bedroom, was a bit overwhelmed.
Her bed was next to Hermione's, which was as fascinating as it was a frightening experience. The girl talked... a lot, but it wasn't so bad. At least she was smart. Kellah seemed all right — mostly wanting to keep to herself, but Lavender and Parvati were not at all the type of people Lilium wanted to be living with. They were both endlessly chatty, complimenting each other over and over, gushing over one another's belongings as they unpacked their trunks.
Lilium and Hermione shared a distressed look.
The Snape girl carefully unpacked her own black trunk; her textbooks and quills, a sketchbook or two, sweaters, three identical pairs of thick black boots, candles, secret sweets, and her wood box of vials and potions. She barely had the energy to find a place to put it away. The feast had exhausted her, as did the whole debacle with her Mark and Harry bloody Potter. She felt ready to drop since the prefect showed them to the Gryffindor common room and the girls' dormitory to the left.
And yet, Lilium couldn't get to sleep — tossing this way and that, unable to get comfortable, unable to stop thinking of her room away from the tower, down seven storeys, out the Grand Staircase and 'cross the quad, to the dungeons where the Potions Classroom and professor's flat waited.
With the curtains shut and blanket over her head, she thought of her bed with the quilt made by Madam Pomfrey, the ceiling that showed the bottom of the Black Lake, all the books she couldn't fit into her trunk, the poster of the Weird Sisters that Snape hated, the mallowsweet plant that Professor Sprout gifted on her ninth birthday, her fireplace and the charmed window that showed the night sky, her father's bedroom across their small sitting room.
Theirs was the only to have two bedrooms as there had never before been a need and her father at twenty—one had determined not to live in a cottage in Hogsmeade as others did with their respective partners. It'd been home for as long as she could remember.
What was wrong with her?
Then Lilium was struck with a terrible realisation: she was homesick. Like a toddler. Like a baby. She was eleven, for Merlin's sake! She'd spent her entire life in this castle, or at least she thought she did, and yet she was feeling homesick. Their chambers weren't far from here, and it would be so easy to go down there.
But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
She did.
Curfew be d—mned. Lilium pushed herself onto her elbows, peeking round the curtains to make sure that none of the other girls noticed her movements. When all was clear, she tucked her feet into the mouths of her black dragon slippers. Then, with quiet scritch—scratches, she crept from her dormitory, hurried down the winding steps, and then she startled at the sight of Professor McGonagall waiting in the Gryffindor common room.
The professor arched a telling brow, giving a face that only Minerva McGonagall herself could give.
Lilium blurted without thinking, "Shite."
"You'd do well to watch your language, Miss Snape."
Double shite.
"Yes, Professor."
It was a scolding, but McGonagall didn't look angry at all. She gave her a warm smile and Lilium relaxed, recognising that this was not just her Head of House but the woman who had assisted her father in raising her — like an advisor or a therapist or something.
"I had hoped you would end up a Gryffindor, and I'm very pleased to be your Head of House for your time at Hogwarts, Lilium. Perhaps, now that we'll be together for the next seven years, you might trust me enough to share why you are out of bed at this time?"
Lilium lightly tugged on the edges of her loose hair, foot tapping subtly in her nervousness. She mumbled, "Am I going to lose points for swearing and being out of bed after curfew and for swearing while being out of bed after curfew?"
That was bad form to be losing points for her new House on the first night, even for Lilium S. Snape.
Her professor tsked, "Not on this occasion, no. Now, would you care to explain why you are down here?"
"Why are you down here?" She asked instead.
McGonagall's brow stayed arched but she explained all the same, "I always sit here on the first night of term in case any of the First Years feel distressed over their longing for the comforts of home."
"That's good of you," the girl offered awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to just turn round and disappear back upstairs. She suspected her expression made that very clear.
"Thank you. But I suspect it's not simply homesickness that you are feeling, Lilium."
Ugh.
"I... miss him," Lilium confessed, like it was shameful, feeling like an ejit.
Yet McGongall gave her an indulgent look, "And I am sure he misses you as well."
She hoped so... but she was not convinced.
All the same, she worried (like an even bigger ejit), "D'you think he'll be all right? All alone down there, in the dungeons, without me..."
"He will be just fine, Lilium. As will you, and all of your other Housemates who miss their parents. Remember, Gryffindor is your home now. So, if I were you, I would return to bed in an effort to get some sleep. After all," there was a clever, knowing glint in the older witch's eye, "I seem to recall that you have Potions tomorrow afternoon."
Lilium exhaled heavily, offering a half—hearted almost smile, "Right. That is, yes, ma'am. Goodnight, Professor McGonagall."
"And goodnight to you, Miss Snape."
With slumped shoulders, Lilium turned and trudged back up the winding steps from the common room to her dormitory. Kicking off her slippers, she fell face first into her bed and wiggled to bury herself down the blankets in an effort to hide from the world. She concentrated on falling asleep, trying to remember that Gryffindor was her home now.
Hours later, moonlight fell through the tower windows as young girls like Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati slept soundly. Lilium was there too, sleeping, but not as restful. She twitched and twisted in her sheets, cold hands and flashes of green flickering behind her eyelids, a cold, high—pitched voice ringing in her ears.
'You're — mine!'
Lilium bolted upright. A ragged gasp tore itself free of her lips, and she was certain that her wild heartbeat could be heard through the room. Trembling. Sweating. She glanced round the room, then laid tentatively back, like the bed might give out beneath her. Eyes open. Blood pounding.
She couldn't remember the dream at all.
ϟ
Lilium's first day as a student at Hogwarts was already off to a bad start.
First of all...
Sharing a dorm with four other eleven year old girls was going to be a struggle.
Some were messier than others — i.e. Lavender, with clothes strewn all over the floor and shoes ready to be tripped over in the entryway. Some were neat to a fault — i.e. Lilium, with everything perfectly organised in strict alphabetical order. They each had various times they went to sleep — from Hermione who stayed up half the night reading to Parvati who could be heard snoring as early as 8:30 sharp.
The worst of it, however, was the bathroom.
Lilium Snape was gangly and pale and scarred, and because of this, she was painfully self—conscious. On her first day of classes, she woke up extra early to shower in solitude, desperately trying to avoid her dormmates. Unfortunately, not everyone seemed to understand this. Still hiding in the shower stall, she resisted the urge to utter a hex or two when she heard the other girls' voices as they readied for the day.
Bloody brill.
When the endlessly warm water turned off, Lilium wrapped a towel tightly round her chest so it hung safely to her thighs. Then, glancing both ways, taking a fortifying breath, the girl emerged from the shower. The large bathroom was cluttered with her dormmates, most of them chatting far too loud for so early in the morning, their clothes and hair supplies and fashion magazines absolutely everywhere.
Lilium consciously focused on not sneering (very Snape—ishly).
She shook herself like a wet dog. Her thick hair dripped annoyingly down her back, making her shiver in the cool air. She reminded herself to learn a drying spell, and immediately. Her heavy black makeup had streaked down her face, as she'd not been in the mood to properly scrub it off in the shower. It made her rather look like a raccoon, or perhaps a Muggle bank robber — at least that was what her father always said.
She was just reaching for her clothes when she noticed that everyone had gone silent.
The girls were staring. All of them. Each of her dormmates. Kellah, Lavender, Parvati, even Hermione.
Confused (and a bit frightened), Lilium glanced down at herself and her cheeks instantly burned bright pink. Her scars. She'd forgotten about her scars. How could she have bloody forgotten? Burns and scars and black veins that resulted from an over—exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. Ugly, ugly, so bloody ugly. Lilium pulled her towel tighter round her trembling body, took two stumbling steps back from the girls, and turned to flee back to the safety of her bed. No, it was not safe in here, not anywhere, not for someone as ugly and scarred as her. She had forgotten, like an ejit, like a fool.
Lilium would not make this mistake again.
Second of all...
Sharing a school with four Houses full of dunderheads was really going to be a struggle.
"She's a Snape. Snape's don't belong in Gryffindor."
Black eyes flickering left and right, a small bitter smirk stole over her features. Her heavy boots echoed while she walked the halls for the first time as a proper student. The red and gold tie was a bit garish for her tastes, but she thrived on the black robes and the black boots that were her choosing.
They said she didn't belong here. That was fine. She never belonged anywhere.
Fellow students stood on tiptoes to get a peek, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, practically gaping at her. This was one thing she had in common with Harry Potter was that whispers followed her from the moment she woke up this morning.
"Can you believe the greasy git actually reproduced?"
"There, look."
"Did you see her face? She's got scars, but at least she didn't inherit the nose,"
"What's wrong with her?"
The distinct difference between them, however, was that her observers lacked the same awe and admiration. All people stared at her with was disgust and trepidation. People paused in doorways, only part way visible to catch a peek. Crowds parted when she approached, like a dark Moses parting a wizarding sea.
It was only a little satisfying.
Classes were brill, as she'd expected.
It helped that she knew where all her classrooms were, as well as who each professor was (she liked some more than others). School didn't necessarily come natural to Lilium, but being absolutely terrified of failure was an excellent motivator. Fancy that. That was what happened, when one was a professor's kid.
There was very little she could do to keep their connection a secret.
Their names as well as their similar features were a dead giveaway. Her father had taught Potions at Hogwarts for the past ten years, though he didn't really want to — apparently he was after Professor Quirrell's job. He knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone she knew. Anyway, with her father Head of Slytherin House, everyone knew who he was instantly. Unfortunately, everyone also knew he favoured the Slytherins.
She supposed she was about to confirm that for herself.
Potions lessons took place down in the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, which didn't bother her at all. Her black clothes were thick enough to ward off any chill, not to mention she'd grown up with it. She supposed that to those not used to it, the dungeons were certifiably creepy. Half—melted candles provided the only light in the room, cauldrons full of a dangerous black sludge bubbled on their work tables, and pickled animals floated in glass jars all round the walls.
It was heaven.
Lilium avoided any seats in the front row — not interested in seeming like a teacher's pet (like her father would ever let her be one). Still, it was best to avoid the perception. Other students round her chattered happily, sitting near steaming cauldrons. She was very good at ignoring them, waiting nervously for her father (Professor Snape, she reminded herself harshly) to show up.
The door suddenly slammed open, and Lilium's heart did an instinctive leap at his arrival. But then she actually looked at him. When she whipped round, she saw a cloud of black robes storming into the room. His angles were all wrong; he didn't want to be here. His mood was like black soot in the frigid air. She thought she might choke on it.
She thought being in his presence might comfort her...
Now she wasn't so sure.
"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class." Snape's strict voice echoed in the wide dungeon, the bubbling sound of potions creating a low backdrop. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few..."
Her father's eyes darted briefly to Draco who smiled like a preening little b—stard. Something about that made Lilium squirm in her seat slightly. What was that feeling in her chest? Was it... jealousy? No. Couldn't be. Not possible.
Why would she be jealous of her father and Draco — of all people?
What did he have that she didn't?
"...Who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper... in death."
The girl arched a curious brow, leaning further in. 'A stopper in death'? He hadn't ever mentioned that particular potion during her childhood. To live forever didn't sound so bad... Beside her, Potter was busy taking notes, head down, focused on his paper.
"Then again." Snape's dark eyes narrowed in on the boy, "Maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not... pay... attention."
Lilium found herself leaning away from Potter, not at all wanting to be associated with him. The Granger girl lightly elbowed the boy, finally making him look up to their professor. Potter blinked rapidly, realising Snape was glaring down at him.
"Mis—ter Potter." Her father fairly spat, "Our... new... celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter looking at a loss, slightly shaking his head. Hermione's hand shot into the air while Lilium rolled her eyes and boredly put her cheek on her fist.
"You don't know?" Snape's cold voice echoed painfully, "Well, let's try again. Where, Mister Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione's desperate hand shot up yet again. It was actually a miracle she didn't accidentally slap Lilium with the way her arms were flying. Round them, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering; for some strange reason, it made Lilium's blood burn in her veins.
"I... I don't know, sir."
Unsurprisingly, Snape persisted, "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Again, "I don't know, sir."
Lilium was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable; she didn't know why.
"Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything... Is it, Mister Potter?"
"Clearly, Hermione knows." Potter sassed back, "It seems a pity not to ask her."
Lilium looked sharply at the boy at her side, surprised at his audacity. She couldn't decide if she was more impressed by his bravery or annoyed at his stupidity. All round the cold classroom, the other Gryffindors started to laugh amongst themselves.
"Silence..." Snape crooned, making everyone instantly fall quiet. His eyes darkened and he swiftly strode to their row of desks, barely looking at Hermione when he ordered, "Put your hand down, you silly girl..."
Hermione wilted.
Lilium squirmed in her seat, murmuring under her breath, "Oh, you're in trouble."
Potter frowned at her.
Snape stepped toward the boy, eyes glimmering dangerously.
Finally, the girl finally allowed herself a glimpse at Potter. His cheeks were a bit pink but he kept his eyes levelled on her father's. An impressive feat. This was an injustice to this, though, and Lilium felt a strange urge to put an end to the humiliation, settling uncomfortably on her chest. Some dark instinctual part of her wanted The Boy Who Lived to be embarrassed, wanted him to be knocked down a peg or two. But there was something else within her, something stronger, something about him, that made her speak up.
Snape leaned towards him, "For your information, Potter—,"
"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion known as the 'Draught of Living Death', Professor." Lilium interrupted as quick as she could, her voice suddenly seeming painfully loud in the dungeon, "A bezoar saves one from most poisons, which is extracted from the stomach of a goat. And there is no difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. They are the same plant, also going by the name 'aconite'."
... And shite again.
Lilium's words hung uncomfortably in the frigid air — rapidly turning colder by the second. Snape didn't even turn his head to glance at her, his piercing gaze stuck solely on Potter. Meanwhile, Hermione was frowning deeply at Lilium, probably jealous or something. For a moment, everything was quiet — the tension rising and rising. Suddenly she realised the many benefits of being dead. Firstly, it would save her from being here.
"Well...?" Snape snapped at the other students, making them all jump, "Why aren't you all copying that down?"
Her classmates basically dove for their quills and parchment, desperately beginning to scribble down Lilium's answer. With a swish of his robes, Snape turned from Potter and Lilium, returned to his desk, and dipped his quill into an ink pot. Her father didn't lift his head to look at her. A cold feeling curdled in her stomach. And then Potter had the gall to look gratefully in her direction.
Grateful.
Lilium stubbornly ignored him.
"And Gryffindors," Snape spoke from the front, making the cold dread bubble up into her throat. "Note that five points will be taken from your House... for your classmate's cheek."
Another reason to hate Harry Potter; Lilium was sure to write that down.
All the while, her father never looked at her once.
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It was simply a habit to go to Snape's classroom.
It was habit and it was homesickness, too.
Because as much as it was instinctive to find herself running down the dungeon steps, it was also a conscious decision. Lilium wanted to be back home, and she wanted Snape to look at her. Say something — anything. She'd even take him shouting at her, if he just took a second to actually pay attention.
After all, Snape only ignored her during class because of Potter.
Maybe.
Or perhaps he ignored her because of the House she'd been sorted into, or because Draco Malfoy was sitting in the first row, or because she'd spoken up in Potter's place, or because... she didn't know what.
With classes finished for the day, Lilium had a few hours of free time before supper, and she definitely had no desire to focus on any more schoolwork. Hermione was already working on an assignment due two weeks from now while Lavender and Parvati were discussing the possibilities of having charmed nail polish that changed colour based upon one's mood.
Lilium had absolutely nothing to contribute to that conversation.
So, she did what she did every other day for the past eleven years of her life.
She went to the dungeons.
Snape would being expecting her round this time of day. After all, he was always done with his classes by this time and so she'd wander out of their flat to visit him. It was routine. As soon as his last students vacated, she'd rush out to hop onto his desk and demand some attention (whether or not he'd give it was another matter). She'd spend hours restocking his storeroom, helping prepare for the next day's lessons, learning whatever new potion he was working on, or simply sitting in his presence while she sketched or read or did whatever the hell she wanted.
That was the life she knew.
And she missed it.
Lilium arrived at his classroom in record time. She might've been clumsy, but she was still fast as a bowtruckle. Or so Hagrid said. Breathing a sigh of relief, the girl strode happily up to his door, didn't bother to knock, and gave the handle a swift twist. But it didn't budge.
Snape knew she was coming, and he had locked the door.
annie speaks
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woooooo, enemies to lovers, let's go!! i absolutely love lilium and harry and how their relationship develops from one-sided enemies to... well, you know. and now our baby is in gryffindor! poor house isn't going to know what hit them :) also, there's already trouble between lilium and snape, sigh, it was bound to happen and it's happening quickly. she already doesn't like how he treats the people in her class, how is that going to progress as time passes? and what's all this about her mother - a real mystery!
stick around and find out! please comment and let me know what ya thought!!
IMPORTANT QUESTION: i'm now thinking of updating twice instead of just once a week so my new update schedule would be wednesdays and sundays. would you guys be up for that? please let me know!
^^ literally them